A Very Westeros Christmas!
by Mr. Chaos
Summary: Welcome, dear readers, to a world where Westeros celebrates Christmas. Enjoy a selection of tales about the powerful families of the Seven Kingdoms ringing in the holidays that are totally canon and not insane crack-fic material.
1. Chapter 1

Jon watched as the servants hurried about Winterfell, arms loaded down with all manner of decorations. Two were on ladders hanging up long ropes of garland along the archways, a cheery wreath at the center of each opening. Under many doorways and archways mistletoe was being hung up... followed shortly by Ser Rodrik coming over barking at servants and groomsmen and household knights that the custom was to kiss ladies on the lips if under mistletoe... and not lifting up their skirts and kissing certain other lips. Jon leaned against the post he was standing next to, eyebrow raised as Jory struggled with the candles he was trying to get set up long one of the high wall's walkways. The candles, shipped in from Myr, had been made so that when lit they produced glowing lights in all manner of colors. Red, blue, yellow, green, white... simply light the wick and you got a beautiful little flame. Some of the servants were using them to create elaborate displays in Winter Town but Jory was just trying to run a multi-colored set along the walkway. The wind was giving him all manner of problems though, as he would get nearly all of them lit only for a gust to come and snuff one out, causing him to run about and try and get it relit before another went out.

'Yes, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas,' he thought to himself as he watched Jory race about cursing up a storm.

He simply couldn't imagine what it was like down South, past the neck. Christmas was supposed to have snow and the North had plenty of that but during the summer years the people of King's Landing or the Reach or Storm's End had to make down with green fields. Oh, they would try and make it look festive, planting white flowers or laying out sheep's wool but Jon just couldn't believe that it was the same. Winter Was Coming was supposed to be a reminder and a warning for those of the North but on Christmas no one in Westeros, from the lowest peasant to the highest lord, seemed to mind the words of the Starks.

Snow wasn't the only difference when it came to celebrating the season in the North and the South. In the South it was the tradition to bring pine trees into castles and keeps and decorate them in all manner of ways. They North, following the Old Ways, did no such thing as doing so was seen as disrespectful to the Old Gods who used trees, not just the weirwood trees, as their messengers. The Southern Lords would also hang knitted stockings near their hearths to fill with gifts while the North chose to place such treats in baskets at the foot of each child's bed.

In the center of Winterfell's main yard sat the grand focus of the festive season for the North, something that wouldn't be found in any Southern castle: the Christmas sleigh. Every year, on Christmas Eve, Lords would load their sleds with treats and gifts for their subjects and ride out into the night, delivering them to the farmers and laborers who lived on their lands. And the greatest of the sleighs belonged to the Starks of Winterfell, who commanded one so large and laden with gifts that it took a team of eight horses to pull it. And to care for these horses the current Lord Stark would select seven of his kin to ride with him, giving gifts to all those in his lands and bringing joy and laughter to all.

And that was why Jon was in such a dark mood.

"Why are you scowling?" Robb asked, walking up to him and clapping him on the shoulder. He followed Jon's gaze and shook his head. "I don't know why you care so much... its hard work managing that thing. You get to sleep while the rest of us have to ride out through the entire night."

"It's just... it doesn't matter," Jon grumbled.

"It does matter," Robb said, his tone losing the mocking quality that had seeped into it when he'd first walked up. "At least to you."

Jon sighed. "It's just... that is a reminder of what I am not." He gestured towards the sleigh.

Robb tried to smile, to chase away his brother's dour mood with humor, but Jon could tell that not even Robb believed his own words. "It's not all that amazing. The wind is cold and biting and you spend the entire time trying to stay awake and then in the morning you are half asleep and can't even keep your eyes from shutting when you go to open your presents."

"Last year your mother gave me a spoiled plum with a knife in it," Jon reminded him.

"...okay, so maybe that gift was bad-"

"She found one that looked like my head."

"-but still, this is a lovely time of year!"

"Besides, you'll be with us this year!" Arya said, popping up between then.

"GAAAAAA!" Robb screamed, flailing his arms and nearly toppling. "Where the hell did you come from?" Arya opened her mouth but he quickly covered it. "Wait, nevermind, I remembered who I was talking to."

Arya pouted over the lost chance to make her quip but Jon instead stared at his little sister, head tilted slightly. "What do you mean I'll be with you?"

"You didn't hear?" Arya said, bouncing up and down like an excited pup. "Uncle Benjen hasn't arrived! We need eight riders. Robb, Sansa, Bran, Rickon, and I make five, father and mother make seven, but without Uncle Benjen you are the only Stark around!"

Robb though cut in before Jon could respond. "Uncle Benjen isn't coming?"

Arya waved him off. "Something about going on a ranging... I'm sure he is fine!"

~Meanwhile, North of the Wall~

"Silver and gold! Silver and Gold!" Klondike Ike sang, spinning his axe. "Ev'ryone wishes for silver and-"

"WOULD YOU SHUT UP AND HELP ME FIGHT!?" Benjen screamed at the crazed wildling as he swung his sword at the towering form of the Abominable Snow Monster that had them pinned in the mountain crevasse. "GAAAA! I'M GOING TO DIE WITH A SINGING GINGER! THE OLD GYPSY WAS RIGHT!"

~Back At Winterfell~

"Children, line up," Ned Stark called out, summoning all the young ones. Robb, Arya, and Jon had already been waiting near the sleigh but Bran leapt down from a wall with a tumble while Rickon ran, in a straight bloody line, to them (and through a hay bale and tackling two servants… the boy needed to learn to zig-zag) and Sansa entered with a stick up her ass (literally... she'd taken a bad tumble and had been going to get Maester Luwin's help when her father had summoned her). Ned stood before the sleigh, his hand resting on the pommel of Ice as he looked over those gathered. "Winter is Coming-"

"Actually it's already here, father," Robb corrected him.

"Yes but Winter is Here doesn't sound as important."

"And saying it's cumming does?" Bran said with a snicker, only to grow quiet when his father glared at him.

"As I was saying... today is Christmas Eve and tonight we will ride and deliver gifts throughout our lands. Eight is the required number... eight Starks." Arya elbowed Jon but he ignored her. As father continued on, talking of the origin of the tradition he couldn't help but feel hope swell in his heart. Arya was right... they would need him to have 8 Starks. Tradition was important in the North and father wouldn't risk breaking it, not when there was a Stark available. Which meant-

"Robb. Sansa. Arya. Bran. Rickon. You make fire. Your mother and I make seven. Thus..."

Here it came...

"-Ian Stark will be joining us for the first time!" Catelyn Stark said, leading a man with dark curling hair towards them.

"...who?" the children, save Jon who was standing utterly dumbfounded, said as one.

"The main character from the show Stark Raving Mad," Catelyn told them, taking a moment to look Jon's way and smirk.

Maybe it was because of her little smile but Jon found himself exclaiming, "Oh come on, no one remembers that show!"

Lady Stark though turned to her right. "Admiral Piett?"

Firmus Piett of the Star Destroyer Executor stepped forward. "It's an older reference but it checks out."

Jon's eye began to twitch.

~Three Hours Later~

"So what did you do then?" 

Jon, sitting on a fallen tree, sighed. "I don't quite remember after I stormed off but when I stopped hearing my heart pounding in my ears I was here and had this wig with me?"

His companion poked at the bloody mess of brown hair. "I don't think that's hair, Jon." The smaller man patted Jon on the knee. "It's alright, Jon… even if your father's wife treats you like garbage you still have me!"

"Thanks Hermey," Jon said. He'd met Hermey nearly a year ago, the strange short wildling having made camp about an hour's ride out of Winterfell. Unlike the wildings one normally heard about Hermey was short, smaller than even the fabled Imp of Casterly Rock, with a boyish face and blonde hair and dressed in garish reds and greens. Still, he was a good listener and had been kind to Jon and the two has struck up a friendship. "Still, I wish my family would let me be… part of the family, you know?" 

"Oh, I understand. My family made fun of me when I told them I didn't want to raid or fight or anything most wildlings do. But it didn't matter because I knew what I wanted to be… I wanted to be a dentist! And now I am!"

"I've been meaning to ask… how DID you become a dentist?"

Hermey laughed. "It was easy! I learned that if you just scream loud enough that something is real then it becomes real."

"…where did you learn that?" 

"King's Landing."

"That explains so much and so little." Jon rubbed his brow in frustration. "But I don't even know what I want to be, Hermey! I thought I wanted to be a man of the Night's Watch but then I met you and realized not all wildlings are bad! I can't just go charging out there attacking good people!"

"Well, I wouldn't mind." When Jon shot him a look Hermey merely smiled. "Night's Watch beats up wildlings, they get their teeth broken… and who is around to repair them?" He silently jabbed his thumb towards his own chest.

Jon just rolled his eyes at that. "It just feels like my future is shrouded in-"

"Fog."

"Right, exactly!" Jon said, pointing a finger at Hermey only to blink when he looked around and saw that the forested area around him had become layered with a mist that was growing all the thicker with each passing moment. "Oh."

"No oh," Hermey said, looking about. "I actually didn't notice this when I said that. Just... ironic." He tilted his head, considering what he'd just said. "Isn't it ironic? Don't you think?"

Jon nodded. "A little too ironic, and yeah I really do think."

"It's like rain on your wedding day,' Hermey pointed out.

Jon added. "It's a free ride when you've already paid."

"It's the good advice that you just didn't take."

"Who would've thought, it figures." He shrugged before standing up. "Well, I should get back before this gets worse. Want to come along, keep me company tonight? With my family out I'll basically have Winterfell all to myself."

"...kegger?"

Jon smiled slightly at that. "Kegger."

~A while later...~

But there would be no kegger. For when Jon returned to Winterfell the fog had grown so think that one could bump into a guard and not even realize it until their bodies collided (which is also how Oberyn Martell had fathered his 3rd bastard). He and Hermey had barely made it back in one piece and when they got to the gate they found Ned and the rest of the family staring out into the night with features that ranged from disappointment to frustration.

"Jon!" Arya cried out, running to him and giving him a hug. "Where did you go?"

"I went for a long walk. Ran into a friend." He gestured at Hermey who gave a wave. "Why haven't all of you gone on your ride yet?"

Ned rumbled in frustration. "We tried... it's grown too foggy. We only got out maybe half a league before we got turned around and ended up back here."

Sansa let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh, those poor peasants... we won't be able to give them their gifts. There has never been a greater tragedy!"

(For a list of greater tragedies than that please see Fire and Blood Vol. One, aka The Book Martin Decided To Waste His Time On Because He Would Rather Write History Books Than Finish His God Damn Story)

Catelyn though shot Jon a calculating look. "And just how did you get back here so easily?"

Robb raised his hand. "What she means is how did you get back in this fog? She isn't blaming you for it or anything."

Actually Lady Stark was and already she was thinking about how she needed to punish Ned's bastard for using his evil fog-creating powers.

Jon stared at them before lifting his lantern. "I just used this and took it slow. It cut through the fog pretty good."

Ned rubbed his chin in thought. "Jon... I think that's the answer."

"What is?"

"You and your lantern!" Ned slapped his hands together. "If you ran in front of the sleigh with your lantern you could guide us from house to house."

"...you mean ride in front of you, right?"

"No, run. All the other horses are sleeping right now. Would be rude to wake them."

Jon's brow furrowed at that. "Wait, so I'd have to run as fast as horses? Wouldn't that make me too tired to hand out presents?"

"You wouldn't be handing out presents," Catelyn snapped. "You would just lead us to the houses where WE would hand out the presents."

"So... I would be on the same level as a horse." Jon said dryly.

"Only for tonight," Catelyn stated.

"And would you thank me for doing it? Or apologize for treating me like horse shit?"

Sansa stared at him. "Why would we need to do that?"

Ned merely strode forward and clapped Jon on the shoulder. "But you would be doing us a great service. So... Jon Snow, with your lantern so bright... won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"

"...no!" Jon exclaimed in disbelief.

"Great, that's-wait, what now?" Ned said, the rest of the family just as surprised but Jon's denial.

"You treat me horrible, allow your servants... your lady wife... to mock and insult me and make me miserable all because of something YOU did, and when you need something from me you aren't even going to apologize for all of that?" He scoffed. "By the Old Gods and the New... no!" he turned to Hermey. "You need a nurse for your dental practice? I think I'd rather do that then stay here."

"Well sure! But we'll have to stay with my sister until we can find a place to live. And that will be… awkward."

Jon frowned. "What's wrong with your sister?"

"Well, Ygritte is double jointed so she's super also is a bit of a workout nut, getting up early in the morning to go jog so she stays super trim. Wakes me up constantly. And she spends all her time hanging out with her buxom friends talking about how all they want in the world is to be fucked in the ass! Day in and day out begging for someone to just fuck them in the ass! All things they would do to a man sexually if they could just get fucked in the ass!" Hermey shuddered (he was a leg man himself).

Jon blinked before turning to Lady Stark and flipping her off. "Fuck you all, I'm joining the wildlings!" He turned, still flipping off Catelyn, raising his lantern up.

"WAIT!" Robb cried out, stepping forward and grabbing Jon by the shoulder. "Jon... please... as your brother... don't do this! There is a place for you here in Winterfell with-wait, your sister and her FRIENDS want to be fucked in the ass?" he asked Hermey.

"Oh yea. All eight of them!" Hermey said, tongue flicking out like the words tasted like poison on in his mouth.

Robb turned to his family "Father, I surrender my claim to Winterfell. I'm joining the wildings!"

"Me too!" Arya exclaimed, running to join them. When everyone gaped at her she rolled her eyes. "I'm a massive tomboy who hates dresses. You're that shocked I'm a lesbian?"

Ned opened his mouth only to slowly shut it and nod in agreement that yeah, he should have seen that coming. The rest of the family could only murmur to themselves.

~MC~MC~MC~

"And so, dear readers, no presents were delivered that night," Mr. Chaos said, sitting in an antique armchair in an opulent English-style reading room, a large tome sitting on his lap. He was dressed in a red smoking jacket, a fire burning merrily in the fireplace. "But I don't know what happened after that to the Starks because the rest of the book is all about Jon having wild passionate sex with Ygritte." He held up the book. "And there are a ton of drawings of them totally doing it in here. It's hot. Varys, come look at this!" Lord Varys shuffled over and stood behind Mr. Chaos' chair, looking down at the book. "What do you think about this shit?"

"When I was a young boy a magician removed my manhood to power an ancient ritual," The Spider stated. "...but yeah, even I think that's hot." He grinned and leaned in closer to have a better look.

"You're damn right it is! Anyway, next time we'll tell the story of Tywin Lannister and his Christmas adventure... and it will involve less ass fucking."

**A Very Westeros Christmas is brought to you by Papa John's. Papa John's... it's no delivery, its shitty overpriced pizza! It's also brought to you by Peloton Bikes. Remember, a Peloton says, "You aren't skinny enough bitch! Now exercise if you want this marriage to work!"**


	2. Chapter 2

Joanna was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The declaration of her burial was signed by the Maester, the septon, the steward, and the chief mourner. Tywin signed it. And Tywin's name was good for anything he chose to put his hand to. Lady Joanna was as dead as a doornail.

Though it had been years since he had laid her cold form in the even colder ground that mattered little to the Lord of Casterly Rock. For it was said by many that the day his wife died was the day that Tywin Lannister's heart finally died as well. For while before then he had been a stern man, strong and determined and filled with a drive that made all men young and small marvel he had at least been known to smile. He had smiled the day he married Joanna and the day that she had given birth to their twins. But with her death came the death of his smile and from that moment on Tywin was a mirthless and cheerless fellow.

Sitting in his solar Tywin looked over the paperwork that kept the Westerlands running smoothly and distinctly did all he could to avoid leaving it. For his family had come to Casterly Rock to celebrate Christmas but Tywin felt no urge to join them. He had no need for the loud shrieks of children or the drunken antics of his extended family. The gaudy decorations and over-indulgent and rich food. He did not need to hear his daughter making biting insults about everyone she saw or witness her husband the King fondling every pair of tits he could find (including, once when he had been drunk, Robert grabbing his own fatty chest and playing with his nipples till everyone at the Olive Garden simply left) and their eldest boy torturing cats or servants or his own siblings. Not when there was work to be done.

No, better to be all alone.

"Father," Tyrion said, causing Tywin to start a little before he remembered that yes, the dwarf was in his solar with him, commanded to help him look over some documents lest the lecherous little imp begin drinking and fucking all about Casterly Rock. "Do you think we might throw another log on the fire?"

"Why?"

"In case you haven't noticed it is rather cold out," Tyrion pointed out. That was true; winter had come quite unexpectedly, far sooner than the maesters had expected, and as such all the Westerlands found themselves covering in snow nearly a foot deep. It was all the more reason why Tywin needed to work. They hadn't had a chance to prepare for the winter and now it was up to him to ensure that the small folk didn't starve.

"It's fine," Tywin said, thinking of how much cut and dried wood they had on hand. "The fire is warm enough." He looked at the hearth… and the fire that was so pitifully small that one would get more warmth from a firefly than the wood burning in Tywin's fireplace.

"You say that but…" Tyrion held up a black object.

"A carving of a raven. What of it?"

"It wasn't a carving when it flew in here," Tyrion said, smashing the raven against his table and sending frozen bits of blood and organs raining down onto the floor.

"Then toss the bird into the fire. That will work."

Tyrion was prepared to say something he most likely thought terribly clever but actually wasn't, but was cut off by the door opening and Jaime entering. "Well, this is where you are hiding!" Tywin's eldest son grinned. "Merry Christmas, father!"

"Jaime," Tywin said, looking him up and down. "What are you wearing?"

His son looked down at himself and smiled sheepishly. He was wearing the armor and cloak of a knight of the kingsguard but rather than the traditional white the armor had been painted red and green and the cape was striped in the same colors as well. His boots had been replaced with ones a jester might wear and on top of his head was a long pointy cape with bells on the end so that they chimed with every twitch of his body.

"Oh… well Robert decided that he wanted his guards to be more festive." Jaime grinned. "You should see Selmy-"

"I do not wish to see him dressed in such a manner and I certainly don't want to see you dressed as such. Now take that off… I am sure by now his grace is too drunk to notice if you remove that…" he didn't finish, unable to find a proper word to describe his son's garments.

Jaime though looked down and fingered his clothing. "I don't know… tis the season-"

At that moment Cersei burst in. "Oh good, father you are here."

"Of course I am here, who else would be in my solar?"

Cersei stared at him for a moment and he realized she was actually thinking over the damn question. Seven Hells, what evil had he done to deserve children such as these?

~Meanwhile, in King's Landing~ 

"And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere…" Bronn sang quietly to himself before slipping into the Red Keep, Robert having been dumb enough to take all the guards with him and thus leaving the castle unprotected. Bronn needed a new toilet and knew a man that said he could alter the Iron throne to make it do the job…

~Back at Casterly Rock~

"Father, I need a hundred thousand dragons to give to the sept."

Tywin stared at his daughter. He was used to her wanting money… she always needed coin for this and that, never understanding that dragons didn't grow on trees. In that way she was much like Robert, though usually Cersei wasn't attempt to buy booze, whores, and moon tea to deal with the aftermath of the first two. But to give to another person and not use for herself? And for the sept?

"Why?" he asked, knowing there had to be a catch.

"Maryguld Westerling was bragging about how much coin she's donated to the sept and I want to best her."

And there it was.

"Out, all of you," Tywin said coldly. His children, as stupid as they were, quickly hurried out as they knew better than to stick around when he commanded them to leave, and thus Tywin was left alone at last. He rose and walked over to the glass windows that looked out over the gardens below his solar. This was all he wanted. To be left alone, to not have to deal with fools, to be able to quietly go about the rest of his night without being bothered. He had no need for people telling him what he should do and how he should feel. How he should smile more, enjoy the festive season, let go for even just a single day. He was so utterly tired of people thinking that the Christmas season meant, for no good reason, that they had the right to tell him… HIM… how he should feel. That they could command him, order him about, believe them better masters of his mind and emotions.

Tywin Lannister wanted to be left alone. To quietly go about his business as if this night were like any other night. "Why should I care that a bunch of fools decided that we must be kind to each other and pretend that we do not feud and battle the rest of the years? I have no time for such delusions."

"You didn't always think they were delusions."

Tywin turned (he did not whip about… Tywin Lannister did not whip about) to find a familiar face standing before him, though it was only the face that was familiar. The man was not wearing the ruby armor he was fond of, and his silver hair was instead a flickering flame that seemed unable to determine if it wished to burst into a great inferno or wither and die. But the face… oh, he knew that face. It was of the man that should have been his goodson, if only Aerys had held a bit of sense in his head. The face of the man that had torn apart the greatest dynasty of all time all in the name of lust.

"Rhaegar," Tywin said, arching an eyebrow. "Or, at least, that is what you want me to think. Except Rhaegar is dead and I don't believe in ghosts."

"But I am a Ghost, Tywin Lanniser. But not the Ghost you think. I am the Ghost of Christmas Past and I am here to show you visions of your childhood, when you still held the spirit of Christmas in your heart-"

"You have me confused with someone else if you believe I was a frivolous child. Furthermore, I have no interest in seeing my past."

The Ghost of Christmas Past merely smiled. "You don't have much of a choice in this." 

"Actually, I do. I can ignore you. I can shut my eyes. I can stare blandly at whatever you show me and not even comprehend what you are trying to get me to see. I am quite used to doing that, as I have practice when it comes to my goodson the King." Tywin huffed as he walked over to his desk and picked up a goblet of wine. He had a feeling he was going to need it. "And even if I did listen to all you had to say and saw all you tried to show me… it wouldn't matter. The past is the past."

"The past is the child you were. Before you became jaded and cold."

"Exactly," Tywin said through clenched teeth. "I was a child. Who cared about childish things. And now I am a man, who can not afford to waste his time on such frivolous things. Youth is all about teaching a child how to move beyond that and become a functioning part of the world at large, someone of worth and importance. Only fools that can't accept that look back at the past. And when they do so it is always with regret. A man… a man looks forward. To today… and to the future."

"Today and the future?" Rhaegar asked with a smirk. "Very well." And with that he disappeared.

Tywin would have smiled, if he still felt the urge to do so, but instead he merely walked over to fill his goblet only for the wine bottle to be snatched away by a massive hand. Looking over he saw Robert… or, at least, a much larger Robert. One who made the Mountain look like Tyrion. He was wearing a red robe with a crown of leafy greens upon his head and in the hand that wasn't clutching Tywin's wine bottle was a massive leg of turkey, several bites already taken from it.

"You've never seen the likes of me before!"

"Actually I have. Quite often, sadly." Tywin pursed his lips before he walked over to his cabinet and pulled out another bottle of Arbor Gold. "Ghost of Christmas Present, I presume? Rhaegar was the past and you are the present. Allow me to guess what you want to do… you wish to show me people spending far too much money on gifts they don't need, forcing themselves to spend time with people they don't like, and wasting a day that could be rather productive on frivolous things. All in the hopes that doing so will make me decide to celebrate this holiday."

The Ghost of Christmas Present scratched at his beard. "Well…"

"As I told the first one I'm not interested… so kindly leave me in peace. And send the Ghost of Chirstmas-" he turned to find that the room had gone dark and before him stood a figure cloaked in black robes. "-Future. Well… would you like to say something before you leave?"

The Ghost of Christmas Future merely raised its hand and pointed to Tywin's right. He looked down and saw a gravemarker with his name on it.

"Men die all the time. I could trip down some stairs or have a piece of stonework fall on my head or be kicked by a mule. Death happens… you can't fight it. What matters is the legacy you leave. I have made my house the most powerful in all of Westeros… richest and most noble. My name will be remembered for ages. What do I care if I die? If you are remembered you are eternal."

"Okay, seriously?" the Ghost of Christmas Future said, pulling down her hood to reveal Sansa Stark. "You really suck at this."

"I'm not the one failing at their job," Tywin pointed out.

Sansa flipped him off before marching out the door. Tywin merely watched her before sitting down at his desk and getting back to work.

~MC~MC~MC~

"And so Tywin didn't learn a damn thing," Mr. Chaos said as he read from the book. "And he went on to be a magnanimous bastard for all his days. The End."

"…that's a sad story," Robert Arryn complained.

"I found it rather funny," Mr. Chaos stated.

Shireen crinkled her nose. "Shouldn't it have been longer?"

"Listen, I already have people annoyed I don't publish my main stories fast enough you think I'm going to make even greater delays by making these parodies long epics?" he rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine, let's do another story. This one concerning your father, Shireen."

"Oh! I bet he has the Christmas spirit!" Robert declared

Shireen and Mr. Chaos shared a look.


	3. Chapter 3

Stannis Baratheon was about ready to just say 'screw it' and just let the Lannisters have the throne.

Ever since Jon Arryn had learned about Cersei and her brother and their sinful acts (both because they were brother and sister and also because sex was just icky and Stannis didn't even like thinking about it) Stannis had been working to ensure that they didn't claim the throne when Robert finally died (and with the way his brother drank and whored Stannis was frankly shocked Robert wasn't dead already… in fact he was pretty sure Robert had died mid-bite a month ago only for the Seven to kick him back down to Westeros because he had hit on the Maiden). When Jon himself had been killed Stannis had fled back to Dragonstone with his family and his trusted allies and servants and begun to make plans for the day when he needed to claim the crown that belonged to him from the prince born of incest. The problem was that everyone Stannis had tried to bring into his circle to help him turned out to be utterly incompetent.

He'd brought in sailors from Driftmark but they all bickered about what ships Stannis should build (which had devolving into a Battleship Tournament that, while fun, had been a waste of time). He had hired a general from Braavos who was supposed to be one of the best swordsmen in the world to train his men but the man apparently was better at boosting than he was at teaching and Stannis had ended up throwing him in a cell after he tried to take advantage of a serving wench. He'd contacted a man who claimed to know the secret passages of the Red Keep only to discover there were, against all odds, Vary fanboys who dressed up like the eunuch. Or as the whiny man has insisted, 'cosplay'.

And the less said of that priestess of the Lord of Light…

~A Few Months Ago~

"And that is how you will end up on the Iron Throne," Mellisandre stated, ending her Powerpoint presentation (which featured a Photoshopped Stannis sitting on the Iron Throne while 'Macho Man' played). Servants hurried to light some more candles to brighten up the room as the Priestess clasped her hands in front of her and smiled at the brooding, gloomy lord before her. "So… do I have the job?"

"…I want to make sure I understand your plan."

"Of course!" Mellisandre said, having expected questions. In fact she was rather annoyed at herself that she hadn't thought of that and asked if there were any questions.

"You want me to change the entire religion of the Seven Kingdoms to be that of your Lord of Light."

"Indeed."

"And ignoring the fact that despite attempts to do that in the North for centuries they never gave up their Old Gods… do you have any understanding of the Faith of the Seven and how important it is?"

"I know that many cling to their false gods but when they see the glory of the Lord of Light-"

"And are you aware of just HOW badly things have gone when people…" Stannis waved his hand about. "Ser Davos, what term am I looking for?"

The Onion Knight leaned towards his liege lord. "Dick around with the Faithful, my lord?"

"…that will work."

Melisandre blinked. "Well… not really-"

Stannis reached down and pulled out a book that, for a moment, Melisandre gleefully thought was The Winds of Winter only to realize that no, it wasn't. It was just another history-style book about the Seven Kingdoms because George R.R. Martin preferred creating Targ names over actually finishing his series. "Read the part about Aenys Targaryen."

Melisandre shrugged and found that chapter.

After about 15 minutes she quietly shut the book and stood up. "I'm sorry I wasted your time."

~MC~MC~MC~

So now Stannis found himself wandering about Dragonstone, looking at the newly fallen snow that had covered the ugly spit of rock, and wondered if it wouldn't just be easier to let Joffrey take the crown. The boy was an idiot… he was sure he could convince him to stand outside with his mouth open when it was raining and get him to drown. He'd actually done that with Renly but that had only worked because Renly had heard the song 'It's Raining Men' and gotten REALLY excited for some reason.

'Of course with the snowstorms we keep getting that might be hard to get him to stand there… Joffrey isn't exactly patient…' He continued to walk about until he turned a corner and stopped when he saw Shireen, dressed for once not in a dress but in thick winter pants, a heavy coat, gloves, and a hat, happily reaching down to gather up snow before applying it to a strange shape she was making. It was just smaller that Stannis, which made him actually impressed that Shireen had managed to make something so much larger than herself, and it appeared to be rather man-shaped. Arms, thick legs, a ball-like body and ball-like head. It actually reminded him of Robert in a way… a thinner Robert who wasn't hips deep into whores (had Shireen sculpted THAT from the snow she would have gotten a stern talking to). He had a big red nose (again, much like Robert) and black eyes and a corncob pipe in his mouth. He even had a broom in his hand that, if Stannis squinted, might have looked like a warhammer.

"What is it you've crafted there, Shireen?"

His daughter turned and grinned. "A snowman, father!"

"A…snowman?" he asked.

She looked at him with bright eyes. "Yes, a snowman. Surely you made a snowman when you were a boy!"

~Years Ago…~

A 5 year old Robert ran up to his little brother. "Come on, Stannis, let's play outside in the snow!"

Little Stannis… who looked exactly as adult Stannis… merely shook his head. "I have no desire to do that, Robert." 

~In The Present…~ 

"…no on both counts."

Now, no one could quite say why what happened next happened. Perhaps the New Gods were in a playful mood. Perhaps a warlock from a far-off land accidently opened a portal to the wrong place. Maybe the author who should be working on his series stories was far too lazy to actually come up with a good reason for what happened. Whatever the case a strong wind blew around them and with it came floating an old silk hat, the likes of which had never been seen in Westeros. It drifted about before landing on the snowman… who suddenly shifted and smiled.

"Happy Birthday!" the snowman declared.

Stannis stared at him for a moment, only the briefest of moments, before he grabbed Shireen and pulled her behind him, drawing out his dagger. "What manner of monster are you?"

"Monster?' the snowman said with a hearty laugh. "I'm not a monster! I'm Frosty! Frosty the Snowman! And I just want to run and have some fun before I melt away!"

Stannis stared at Frosty before he lifted up his dagger. But then he sighed and dropped it down, sheathing it. "You will not be a threat to my daughter?" Shireen gasped in glee as she realized that her father was going to let Frosty live and play with her.

"Of course not!"

"Then you may remain… so long as you do not get in the way of things." 

"I won't!" Frosty declared.

~The next day~

Stannis sat down in the Room of the Painted Table only to grimace as he felt his breeches become wet, the cold of the liquid he'd just sat in making him shiver. He quickly sat up and looked about only to notice that the Painted Table had seen its wooden figures that represented the armies of Westeros replaced with toy soldiers and animals.

"Did I leave my broom… oh, hello Mr. Stannis!" Frosty said with a grin. "You have a nice playtable there!"

Stannis ground his teeth together.

~Later that day…~ 

Entering the solar within Dragonstone in order to go over some of the plans needed for preparing his war against the Lannisters Stannis eased into his chair only to groan when there was a knock on the door and the damn snowman poked his head in before he could even give him permission. "Mr. Stannis, why is the sky blue?"

"What?"

"Why is the sky blue? I've always been curious about that."

Stannis stared at the snowman with utter annoyance and disgust. "You are truly wondering… why the sky is blue? And you don't think that is a rather childish question?"

Frosty rubbed his chin… or where his chin should have been. "I don't know? Not really? It's hard to answer that… I've only been alive for a day or so."

"…right," Stannis said, gritting his teeth. "Go ask my Maester, he will know."

"Thanks Mr. Stannis!" Frosty declared before shutting the door. Stannis leaned forward in his chair and held his head in his hands only to look up suddenly when the door opened again. "Mr. Stannis, why is the ocean blue? Do you know that or should I ask the maester that too?"

~Several more hours later…~ 

Tired beyond belief Stannis dragged himself towards his bedchambers, wanting nothing more than to simply go to sleep and hope that in the morning all of this with that damn snowman had been a dream. But when he arrived in his chambers he found his bed stripped back, without any sign of blanket or cover to be found.

Slowly walking towards the window he looked down to find that, yes, outside in the courtyard the snowman had stolen his blankets to make a fort. The damn snowman even had the nerve to look up and wave before he went back to sweeping up around said fort.

Stannis was pretty sure one of his molars had snapped in two.

~A few more hours later~

Stannis's eyes slowly slid open and allowed him to gaze at the white face of his nightmare.

"Mr. Stannis, why do we say people are blue when they are sad?" Frosty asked.

~Hour of the Wolf~

Having managed to find a few cloaks that would work in a pinch as blankets Stannis finally managed to fall to sleep. But it hadn't been restful at all and now he was awake and in need to relieve the pressure in his bladder. Thus he went to the small room just off his bed chambers where he was able to sit and do his business in the chamber pot rather than squat like a peasant.

"Hey Mr. Stannis!" Frosty declared, entering the room despite Stannis' wide-eyed stare. "What are you doing? It smells stinky. Should you be doing something stinky? Can I try?"

~The next afternoon~ 

"Ser Davos," Stannis said, eyes red from exhaustion. He had his sword out and was running a whet stone over it. "Can I break guest rights if the guest is an evil snowman?"

The Onion Knight merely shook his head. "I know that… Frosty…" the name was such a silly term and all of them felt like fools saying it, "…is a touch naïve-"

"And annoying."

"-quite, but he isn't that bad of a per… thing. Just curious. Shireen seems to enjoy his company enough and perhaps with time he'll become little more than another Patchface."

Stannis shook his head though. "No. Patchface might be mad but he has some control over that madness. Frosty does not and it is time to deal with him. Ah." He looked up as Maester Cressen entered. "Cressen, please fetch Shireen. It is time the two of us talked concerning her friend." He knew that his daughter would be sad to lose Frosty but she would go along with his decision out of love for him.

The Maester though shook his head. "I am sorry, my lord, but Shireen is gone."

"Gone?" Stannis asked.

"Gone. Frosty wished to see the Fishing Village and Shireen took him down. They are… well, should I say Frosty is causing a bit of havoc down there." 

"Of course he is," Stannis grunted, grinding his teeth together.

"Yes, apparently he refuses to obey our traffic laws-"

"The Snowman dies!" Ser Davos declared and Stannis turned and actually gapped at the sight of his advisor. Davos was now in full plate armor with two heavy swords on his back, daggers tucked into his boots, and even a crossbow with a flaming bolt in his hands. "Our traffic laws are sacred and he will burn for this!"

"…how did you change so fast?" Stannis asked.

"I…don't…know."

~MC~MC~MC~

The people of Dragonstone's fishing village were used to many things. Being forgotten about. Being ignored. Not even getting a name for their village. It had gotten to the point that if one were to make a TV series about Westeros it would be easy to imagine the village never even getting talked about or even seen. But they were used to not being the center of attention.

Which was why they were all rather startled when their Lord, Stannis Baratheon, suddenly marched down the muddy way that was their main street with a host of knights, seeking out the living snowman who had been seen leading Shireen through the streets of town.

But it wasn't the ice creature that Stannis found first but his daughter, who was softly crying as she sat on a bench. After shooing away the Eleventh Doctor who had come to investigate the crying child (he did that… a lot) Stannis, awkwardly, sat down next to Shireen.

"Uh… there there?" he asked, looking at Davos who motioned that he was doing it right. He reached out to pat her on the head, his harm held stiffly as he more flapped it than anything. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Did that demon make you jaywalk?!" Ser Davos snarled. "DID HE!?"

"No, Ser Davos," Shireen said softly, sniffing and mustering up her emotions. "It's just… Frosty had to leave."

"Oh thank the Gods," Stannis whispered before realizing Shireen and everyone was looking at him and he quickly said, "I mean by the Gods why did that annoying snowball have to go?" 

"Well father, he said that the sun was hot today." Shireen didn't notice one of the guards look at a thermometer near by that read 33 degrees. "So that was why he said we had to run and have some fun, before he melted away."

Stannis blinked as he wondered what would happen if Frosty had melted. Would he have died? Or…

_Stannis leaned back in the warm tub, letting the hot water soothe his aching muscles. He had been training in the yard and now needed the heat and the warmth to drive away the aches and pains in his body-_

"_Happy birthday!" the tub water said._

_"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"  
_

He let out a shudder before focusing once more on his daughter, who continued on. "But after we halted at the traffic stop he said he had to hurry on his way. Then he began to walk, right on the water!"

"Like Jesus," a guard said.

"And my dad when he abandoned us!" another guard stated.

"Then he disappeared."

"Like Jesus."

"Also like my dad!"

"But I heard him say he'd be back on Christmas day!"

"Just like Jesus!"

The second guard merely began to cry. It wasn't like his dad.

Stannis though focused on the last part. "So he'll… be back?"

"Most likely," Shireen said with a smile.

~Two Days Later…~

Cersei frowned. "So you're saying you know Joffrey isn't Robert's son but you are willing to ignore that if we just help you defeat the snowman who keep tormenting you?" 

Stannis, kneeling before her grace, nodded.

~MC~MC~MC~

"And so Stannis and Cersei struck a deal and Stannis moved his family back to the Red Keep, hiding within it so that Frosty couldn't get them. The End!" Mr. Chaos turned the page of his book. "Oh, wait… not the end. Frosty did come back and was able to breech the defenses. Sorry, I should have kept reading." His brow furrowed. "He then… was put on the Small Council by Joffrey because Joffrey is an idiot." He grimaced. "And then Cersei, like she does with… every man… had sex with Frosty. And suffered extreme frostbite on her cl-"

Mr. Chaos suddenly slammed the book shut.

"There… there were pictures of that too. Ugh."

"We've all been there," Lord Bolton said, walking by.

"…well I'm going to bleach my brain. Tune in next for another Christmas story. Gaaaahhhh!"


	4. Chapter 4

Joffrey Baratheon stared down at King's Landing and scowled. He didn't like that name, King's Landing. It was too vague for his tastes.

'Should be called Joffrey's Landing, let all know this is my home, not some other king's,' he thought to himself before shaking his head. 'No... King Joffrey's Landing. That's far better. Won't do to have some bastard named Joffrey thinking this is his city. Wait... Joffrey Greatest King In All Of History's Landing.' He smirked. 'Yes, I like the sound of that.'

But that smile soon faded away like dew on the grass or a good idea in Mace Tyrell's head and Joffrey's sour mood returned. He was just so utterly frustrated and disgusted with how things had gone recently. It seemed as if the entire world was against him, seeking to take away what was rightfully his out of such silly notions like 'honor' and 'justice' and 'common sense'. Nothing that normally worked to snap him out of his foul moods had done the trick. He'd shot a cat with a crossbow, mocked Tommen, had a massage, and thrown boiling water in a cook's face and yet he simply wasn't happy. So he'd come to the battlement to look down at Joffrey Great King in All Of History's Landing and brood.

"None of this is right," Joffrey grumbled to himself. "They all act like I am the problem. Me! I am not the problem, I can't be! I am Joffrey and I am never the problem! And if I were the problem it would be that there wasn't enough me! But you wouldn't believe that if you heard them! You'd think they all thought they'd be better off if I were-"

"Dead?"

"No, of course not. All would mourn me and-" Joffrey stopped short and whipped around to find that he wasn't alone. There, standing before him, was the oddest man he'd ever laid eyes on. He had the golden hair of a Lannister (from the cadet branch, perhaps) though his wasn't nearly cut like Joffrey's own hair or long and straignt like his Uncle Jaime's. No, this man's hair was curly and seemed to be fleeing the man's head, standing out in tuffs. He wore the strangest hat the king had ever seen, a tall brown thing, and it didn't match at all with his purple coat and the bow that he had around his neck. "Who are you? How did you get here?!" Joffrey demanded.

"Well, to answer the first first, since that only makes sense, my name is Willy. And as for why I am here?" The man took a step forward and twirled the cane that, only in that moment, Joffrey noticed he was holding. "Well... I'm here because you need me."

"Need you? I'm afraid you are mistaken. I am in no need of a fool." Joffrey paused, slowly moving so that he placed the jester between himself and the edge of the battlement. "Though, I can think of one way you might entertain me as repayment for startling your king!" He moved suddenly to shove the man known as Willy off the castle wall but the fool easily stepped aside and for a moment Joffrey pinwheeled his arms as he rushed past and headed for the edge himself. But Willy at the last moment caught him by the back of his doublet and yanked him away, sending Joffrey toppling to the ground in a heap.

"See? Need me already. Naughty children always need someone watching out for them."

"Child? I am no child! I am your king!"

Willy raised an eyebrow at that. "Are you? I suppose you are... at the moment. But you might not have been. It is entirely possible that someone else could have been my king. In fact it is entirely possible that Westeros would have known a completely different world had you never come to be. Had you... never been born, as it were?" The man spun his cane before holding out his hand. "Shall we?"

"No we shall not!" Joffrey said, slapping the fool's hand away and rising up. "You will stay there though and I will get my Kingsguard and when they are done with you..." He turned only to trail off when he found it wasn't the entrance to the Red Keep's tower that he was standing in front of but rather the courtyard of the last place he wanted to ever step foot in again: Winterfell. "What... what is the meaning of this?"

"I thought we'd start with something a touch interesting," Willy said, walking up to him. "Wouldn't you like to see how your enemies are fairing?"

Joffrey opened his mouth to reply no, he didn't give two shits about those traitors, only for a few of the functioning braincells he actually had to spark and realize that getting intel on the Starks might be worth some effort on his part. "Yes... yes I believe I do." He suddenly looked down and his eyes widened. "But you idiot, they will recognize us-"

"No, they won't," Willy said. He moved towards a Stark guardsmen and waved his hands in front of the man's face, the soldier not reacting at all. "See? They can't see us."

Joffrey stared at the man, quite startled, but then his twisted little brain began to dream of all he could do in Winterfell without anyone noticing him. He could kill Robb Stark's brother, the stupid crippled boy that should have died already. He could learn all the secret paths so that his armies could easily invade. He could pee on Robb Stark's bed and then giggle when he laid down in pee!

But all his dreams or murder, mayhem, and body waste died when he saw the last figure he'd ever expected to see.

"That... that's not possible!" Joffrey squeaked as he saw Ned Stark move to the front of gathered Northerners, looking over his family carefully before nodding to himself. "He's dead!" Then he noticed the others. "What is my lady doing here?!" He demanded of Willy, gesturing as Sansa who was talking quietly to a young man who resembled Loras Tyrell.

"I told you: I am going to show you what life would be like if you were never born." He began to walk around the Stark family. "In this world Jon Arryn never died and is still Hand of the King. Thus Robert Baratheon only now is riding to Winterfell, so that he can attend Myrcella's wedding to Robb Stark."

"Myr…. Myrcella? Marrying that traitor?!"

"He isn't a traitor in this world," Willy reminded him. "You never cut off Ned Stark's head. And Jon Arryn still lives. Thus he stayed in Winterfell and arranged the betrothal of his daughter Sansa to Willas Tyrell, the heir of Highgarden-"

"I thought Ser Loras was the heir."

Willy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that. And I bet you don't even know who Arianne Martell is." At Joffrey's clueless look Willy waved him off. "The point is that Robert decided to bind his house to his dear friend and since you weren't around he decided to honor on old pledge to marry a Princess to a Stark." He looked about the courtyard. "It's actually a rather important day today, as many of Ned's children are leaving." Motioning for Joffrey to follow him the King of Westeros twisted about only to find himself now at the Red Keep where Ser Barristan Selmy was teaching that decided NOT crippled Bran Stark how to deflect sword swings with his shield. "Bran will be going with the King back to Winterfell to train as a squire under Ser Barristan. Eventually he will be made a knight and then become Lord Commander of the Kingsguard during the reign of Ormund Baratheon." The world around him rippled and he saw an older man who resembled the crippled boy wearing the armor of the Kingsguard proudly.

Joffrey opened his mouth to protest that he'd sent Selmy away only when he went to confront Willy he found himself on a wind-swept spot of land in the Northern ocean where the Bastard of Winterfell was sitting at a table with some savages and members of the Night's Watch. "Jon Stark- Jon Arryn convinced Ned to legitimize him, by the way- will be leaving after the visit to head North to establish a keep for himself on an Island near Bear Island. He'll actually make contact with the Free Folk beyond the Wall and be instrumental in the first peace treaty between them and Westeros." Joffrey tried to keep up but he again found himself in a different area, this time a castle that seemed to be filled with big muscular women where his lady's bratty sister was grinning as she practiced with a mace. "Arya Stark will be sent to Bear Island to be a ward there. She'll eventually become one of the greatest warriors in the North and the legends told of her adventures over the Wall and Across the Narrow Sea will fill volumes in the Citadel along side the tales of the Sea Snake and Ser Duncan the Tall."

"Enough! I don't care about the Starks!" Joffrey cried out, jabbing a finger as Willy. But the fool merely smirked and suddenly they were back in Winterfell and Joffrey watched as his annoying uncle, the Imp, waddled over to the grand carriage mother loved, which had apparently arrived while they were visiting the future.

"Ah, dear sister... so good of you to arrive," the Imp said with a smile. "I have made sure to arrange things to your liking."

Joffrey watched as his mother descended. "Thank you, Tyrion. It is much appreciated."

…

…

…

"Where's the insult?!" Joffrey complained.

"Pardon?"

"The insults! The mockery!" Joffrey waved at his mother. "Why is she treating him so... nicely!?"

"Oh, that," Willy said with a dismissive gesture of his hand. "Remember, you weren't born. So your mother was struggling to give Robert a child and grew desperate. It was your Uncle Tyrion who went to the Citadel and forced them to let him do the research needed to discover a way for her to conceive. Once that worked your mother found herself more... inclined... to tolerate Tyrion. They won't be friends or even like each other much but they will tolerate each other. It isn't that much of a surprise, what with your Uncle Jaime now always at Castlery Rock-"

"What? Why would he be there?"

Willy smiled. "Preparing to be its lord, of course. When your mother had such trouble conceiving a child there was a falling out between her and Jaime. I won't trouble you with what was said but he convinced Robert to allow him to break his vows as a Kingsguard knight and he returned to the Westerlands. He is married to the Evenstar of Tarth's daughter... not a pretty woman but powerfully built. Stronger than most men and cunning in battle. Not a traditional bride but sometimes traditional isn't needed. Your grandfather is hoping for grandchildren that can rival Cersei's children in size or even surpass the Cleganes."

"Rival in size? Why would-" Joffrey stopped as he saw Myrcella step out of the wheelhouse after his mother. At least it was Myrcella when it came to her facial features. The rest of her was… wrong. While she had his sister's nose and lips and chin her hair was black as a raven's plumage and her eyes were a startling blue. But it was her build that shocked him the most. Joffrey had always hated the fact that he was so short when compared to his father… a king should be tall, tower over people in life as he did in power and standing. But at least he was taller than his siblings. But this Myrcella was a giantess! 5'11" already and not even done growing! And she wasn't a skinny thing like Joffrey remembered… she was powerfully built, not in an ugly way but rather like a woman in peak physical condition.

Joffrey could only gape as she moved to greet Robb Stark. If his rival felt awkward that his bride was as tall as him and would be taller in the end he didn't show it. In fact he looked rather… smitten… staring at her.

"She takes after her father," Willy whispered.

"This… this isn't possible!" Joffrey exclaimed, watching as Tommen rode up, as tall as Joffrey was now. He didn't even notice that his father easily rode in as well before dismounting and moving to Joffrey's mother's side, giving her a kiss on the cheek and that she smiled beautifully at him. "How could they be so different!"

"Because you weren't born… things change. Like the heir." Willy waved towards a final young man, a year or two younger than Joffrey but who resembled the alternate versions of Myrcella and Tommen greatly. Taller than Clegane with a mix of Baratheon and Lannister looks the young man rode with ease. "Ormund Baratheon… the brother you never had. Heir to the Iron Throne." Willy made a gestured and the scene rippled to reveal Ormund as a man grown, sitting with a striking woman as they held court in the Red Keep. "King Ormund and Queen _Margaery will usher in a new golden age that will bring about enlightenment and progress to the Seven Kingdoms after the second War for the Dawn. Their son will marry-"_

_"I don't care about King Ormund or his son! I am the king, not this… pretender!" Joffrey reached for his sword only to realize he didn't have it (he'd set it aside before nappy nap time-er…before his quiet reflection in his bedchambers). "Give me a weapon and I will smite him now!"_

_"Yes, of course… I am sure he will be terrified ten seconds before he raises his fist and pounds you into the ground like a tent post." Willy rolled his eyes. "This is a world where you weren't born, remember? He didn't steal anything of yours because you never existed! So he is the one who is the heir, he is the one that will sit with his father when he discusses things with Lord Stark, he will be the guest of honor at the performance of The Cleganes-"_

_"The what now?"_

_Willy smirked and with a gesture the world sped forward until they reached nightfall and they were near a grand set of stands, like those used at tourneys, watching as on a custom built stage Sandor Clegane stepped up to greet the cheering audience._

_A decided UNSCARRED Sandor Clegane._

_"Hello Winterfell!" Sandor called out with a wave. "We're thrilled to be here! Aren't we brother?"_

_The Mountain himself, Gregor Clegane, moved to stand beside his brother… and flashed a grin as he strummed his guitar. "Indeed, little brother! Let's give'em a show!" With that the rest of the band began to play a pop tune as Sandor grabbed the newest invention from Myr, the mic-ro-phone, and leaned into it as the music swirled around him. "_1, 2, 1, 2, 3!" Gregor cried out before Sandor began to sing.

"Wake up kids, we've got the dreamers disease. Age 14 we got you down on your knees. So polite, you're busy still saying please. Frienemies, who when you're down ain't your friend." 

"Wait a minute," Joffrey complained, "How can he not be scarred?! That happened BEFORE I was born!"

Willy smirked. "Yeah, turns out your birth actually retroactively sent negativity throughout the timeline. You not existing means Gregor never became a bastard who hurt his brother and they formed a band instead of becoming warriors. Ellia Martell is the one on the drums, by the way." He gestured at the Dornish woman who was handling the snare set with ease. "Shhh, I love this part!"

"You've got the music in you! Don't let go. You've got the music in you! One dance left. This world is gonna pull through. Don't give up! You've got a reason to live, can't forget! We only get what we give!"

Joffrey spun around so to block Willy's view of the stage. "Enough of this madness! This only proves that I must life to prevent all this…this…"

"Joy? Goodness? Happiness?"

"Yes! Joffrey screeched.

Willy shrugged and the world spun again. "Okay, back at the Red Keep… I think we are at the right time…"

Joffrey looked around and saw they were in the private sept of the Red Keep and glowered. It looked like things were right again but he needed to be sure. Spotting a woman praying before a statue of the Mother he stormed over. "You, can you hear me?" the woman started but was slow to turn. "You can! You can and you don't listen to me? You don't answer me?"

Willy snapped his fingers. "Oh, we are in the past, I brought us to-"

"Answer me!" Joffrey screamed, whipping her around and punching the woman hard in the stomach. The moment he did he realized two things: first, that the woman's stomach was rather big… and second she was VERY familiar. "M-mother?" Joffrey exclaimed.

But the younger Cersei didn't answer, instead clutching her pregnant belly in agony as she fell to the ground. "No… no… please no… not my Joffrey…" she cradled her stomach even as she fell down in pain.

"Oh no," Willy said dryly as he walked over to Joffrey. "You seem to have aborted yourself."

Joffrey looked down at his hands which were fading in and out of existence. "no… no! Stop this!" He turned to Willy in a panic. "Do something!"

With no lack of conviction Willy said in his blandest tone. "Help… police… murder."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Joffrey said as he winked out of existence and all of time and space was rewritten…

~MC~MC~MC~

"And so Joffrey was no more, erased from all reality," Miss Chaos said as she read from the book. "And because of this many… things… changed… wait a moment." The woman looked down at herself, lips pursed even as she adjusted her glasses. "Something not right." Glancing at a mirror she saw that she looked the same: like Felicity Smoak from Arrow but with a pixie cut. Still wearing her smoking jacket, still in her arm chair, still reading the same book. "Ah well, I'll figure it out later. Anyway, one more chapter of our tale, "A Very Westeros Beebo Day", before we get back to my Percy Jackson: Digimon Tamer crossover series!"


End file.
